


Day By Day

by dragonofdispair



Series: Morning [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: (bug babies), Alternate Universe, Consensual Infidelity, Drabbles, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Not porn, Pre-War, Prostitution, Transformers Sparklings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: In the weeks leading up to his first race against Prowl, Drift settles into his new life.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Prowl, Jazz/Prowl
Series: Morning [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553491
Comments: 20
Kudos: 70





	Day By Day

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I'm posting near a busy holiday again. I needed some things to happen before I wrote their first time together. So now that this is out of the way, hopefully I'll get to that after the holiday. 
> 
> Not beta'd
> 
> Happy Holidays, whatever your holiday of choice may be. :D

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A Partridge In A Pear Tree — 200 words

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“I signed you up for a community garden plot,” Prowl said as soon as Drift opened the door.

“Wut?” Real smooth, but Drift wasn’t sure what that meant.

Prowl just sighed. “It’s an empty lot that’s been retrofitted into a fuel and crystal growing space. You just help with upkeep, and you can put anything in your designated space.”

“Why?”

Prowl unsubspaced three small packets. Drift couldn’t read them. “I got you a small solar collection kit too. To supplement your fuel, lowering your household budget. It’s good to get into the habit before you need to support yourself on your own income. And it will give you and the hatchlings a reason to leave the apartment on a regular basis. They need stimulation. Gardens are a good way to provide it.”

Drift might have scoffed. Blue and Green were still getting used to the idea that they could scuttle around wherever they wanted. But Ratchet’s dire words about their processor development echoed in his mind. And what did Prowl mean by ‘his own income’? They weren’t paying in cash.

“Whatever.” Besides, if Prowl wanted to spend his money buying crystals for them, that was fine. “I’ll go get them.”

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Two Turtle Doves — 200 words

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Jazz sprung for racing classes. Prowl took him to the track.

Not the police track, a real _racing_ track.

He hadn't used the crate-nest since moving into the loft. He hadn't had to leave them except to go downstairs for a delivery of hatchling-food. Drift was just going to leave the hatchlings locked up while they were away. This wasn't like their other outings. Drift was going to be too busy to carry them.

Prowl picked him up from the loft with… a backpack-like thing with buckles to carry the hatchlings in. It wasn’t new and Drift wondered where he’d gotten it but didn’t ask.

“I’ll carry them while you’re in class,” Prowl offered.

Drift fidgeted, but he didn’t see much alternative. There was no hatchling sitter; he wouldn’t trust a stranger anyway. They’d probably just spend the whole trip curled up in their ball forms, recharging. Even with all the food Drift could now offer them, anytime they wanted, they still recharged most of the cycle. “I don’t want people thinking they’re yours,” he said, remembering Prowl’s warning not to claim they were and Jazz’s instruction that he be an asset.

“They won’t. Let me worry about my reputation.”

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Three French Hens — 300 words

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Blue and Green were squirmy and squeaky during the entire walk to the racing track, but locked themselves into their segmented shells the instant they stepped inside the gate. Drift was used to noise, but not the noises of so many _people_ crammed together.

Drift had to fight not to stare. It was so bright and fast and blurry. He only saw flashes of the current race and heard a lot of cheering.

“This way,” Prowl tugged them away from the main races to a side corridor. He showed his tickets to the heavy guarding the door and they were allowed in. It quieted immediately. Down some stairs and they were allowed into another, smaller enclosed racing area.

There was already a line of newly-molted adults lounging near the starting area. They were all shiny and sparkled in the bright, artificial lights.

Prowl lifted the backpack off of Drift’s back. Drift fought the urge to resist. He couldn’t take the hatchlings over there and Prowl wouldn’t let him leave them home locked in the crate.

The little traitors cracked open their shells and looked out as soon as Prowl stroked them in greeting, showing a rare curiosity. Drift saw their antennae waving around as they peered out of the backpack. Other than greeting each by name, Prowl didn’t speak or coo at them, which Drift thought was a good thing. After being fragged by Barricade’s electro-baton, listening to a police officer _coo_ probably would have made him sick.

“Go on. I’ll wait over there.” Prowl nodded to the bleachers, which were filled mostly with supportive parents and a few mechs with a familiar hungry look that made Drift’s plating crawl.

Slouching (no he wasn’t nervous), Drift slunk over to the gaggle of adolescents. He wasn’t out of place at all.

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Four Calling Birds — 230 words

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The mech oozed. Drift had never seen anyone else quite like him. The closest he could think of was some of his Enforcer customers, or even the gang leaders and pimps in the Dead End. But all those others had a rough edge of violence this mech lacked.

And he was blocking the exit.

“That was an impressive performance during class,” the mech said in a way that reminded Drift of how customers would call out compliments to the streetwalkers in the Dead End. “Is this your first experience with professional racing?”

“Yeah,” Drift responded warily. He wanted to bristle and snap, but he knew better than to provoke a customer…

“I represent a team of professional racers who’s always looking for new members,” the mech started, only to be interrupted by Prowl.

“This one is mine,” the Enforcer said mildly. The slimy mech turned to look at him, stepping away from the doorway and allowing Drift to escape into the spectator area. Prowl slid the backpack off his shoulder to hand it and the two cheeping traitors back to him. Drift just held them and stood behind Prowl.

“Oh?” The slime’s optics looked Drift over again, and this time he was very obviously looking Drift over like someone looking to buy sex. Leering. Drift slunk behind Prowl to hide. “Well. Have you considered starting a… stable… of your own?”

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Five Golden Rings — 350 words

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“The answer is no,” Prowl said out of the blue once they were safely ensconced at the table of a cheap cafe, another member of the same chain Drift had used originally to meet Enforcers at. Blue and Green scurried around beneath the table trying to decide which was more fun: the bowls of hatchling fuel or sniffing out dropped crumbs and spills on the sidewalk.

Drift looked up from slurping his fuel. “Wut?”

“I had not considered racing you professionally,” Prowl clarified. “We originally thought that you would take the time I was not demanding your attention to search for your own job. Our timeline was that it would take approximately a vorn for you to become independent of us.”

Drift just blinked dumbly. Wut?

“Upon further evaluation, it seems unlikely you will have the time for a job search if left to your own devices. I could sponsor you to the racing circuit. Any money I got in return could be funneled back into providing fuel, care and schooling for the hatchlings. Any prizes you won could be your own income.”

Drift recovered. “Sounds like you’d just be spending more money on me.” He didn’t want to be even _more_ in Jazz and Prowl’s debt!

“Initially,” Prowl acknowledged. “But you were approached by a scout for the same stable that sponsored Blur. I have no doubt you’d earn me enough to profit from the move within your first four kappa-ranked races. That’s the initial entry level, for racers who have never been on a track before. If you can advance to Eta-rank you will be making a fairly decent living wage independent of us, assuming you were able to negotiate a stable contract that wasn’t too exploitative.”

“And yours ain’t exploit-ive?” Drift scoffed.

“On the contrary. My contract with you is going to be extremely exploitative,” Prowl said evenly. “But I will let you go as soon as you feel you’ve been offered a better one. I’ve no moral qualms for paying for what I need, but I would prefer a willing lover.”

Drift scoffed again. Not happening.

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Six Geese A-laying — 170 words

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“May I stay the night?” Prowl asked, almost tentatively.

Drift had been going to tuck Blue and Green into their new favorite sleeping spot on the mattress, where they could cuddle into his warmth while they slept. He shrugged, and put the konked out hatchlings into the bassinet they’d made. “Sure.”

Delaying, he fussed with them. He tucked more of the tie-quilts they’d made around them than normal to muffle the upcoming activities.

Prowl took the leftover hatchling fuel from the cafe and stored it in the cupboard. Drift tensed when he withdrew his baton and cuffs from subspace, but all Prowl did was set the tools aside on the counter. He left them there when he returned to the berth. Drift crawled in with him, projected a hint of false arousal into his EM field.

“What I want tonight,” Prowl began his list of demands, “is simply to hold you. I want to be familiar with your frame while I sleep before our first race together.”

Prowl was weird.

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Seven Swans A-swimming — 250 words

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Prowl didn’t have sex with him then. He just, as he’d said, held him while he slept. Drift stayed awake and tense for joors, then dropped off from exhaustion.

He woke up when Blue climbed on his head.

Prowl’s fingers were gently stroking his chest. “Good morning.”

“Whatever.” Drift pushed the hatchling off of him. It landed on its back in the tangle of blankets and _screed_ softly as it had to figure out how to flip itself over again. Would Prowl—

“We’re not having sex this morning.” Prowl sat up and stretched. “I actually need to go to work pretty quickly.”

So Prowl really had stayed an entire night in this berth with him and had not interfaced at all? Drift checked himself over for… he wasn’t sure really. Evidence Prowl had fragged him, or at least rubbed one off on him, without him noticing but no. He was as clean as he’d been when they’d fallen asleep.

“Sure.” Drift watched him pry himself off the bed and stretch again before retrieving his baton and cuffs from the counter. “Gotta flea-dip the bugbits.” And himself, honestly.

Prowl only nodded and prepared two cubes of energon and two bowls of sparkling fuel. “I’ll get out of your way. May I kiss you?”

Like Prowl needed permission. Drift shrugged.

Prowl came over and his kiss was as light and undemanding as everything else he’d done so far. He didn’t linger over it. He stroked each peeping hatchling in farewell, then left.

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Eight Maids A-milking — 190 words

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Drift didn’t trust Prowl, but wandering around the city looking for a “free” news flimsy with the bugbits just in a backpack made him wish for the officer’s steady, implied protection. The backpack didn’t have a place to hide his gun, so he’d left the weapon hidden in the loft. His plating itched. He felt exposed.

Not that anyone was looking at him. Them.

He was still hesitant to go near the Enforcer’s track. There was a flimsy dispenser there, he knew there was, but he was wary of going there and being seen and recognized by one of his former customers. With his poster gone he didn’t think any of them would bother seeking him out, but if they spotted him and wanted a frag… well, they could still make trouble for Drift if he refused.

And he _would_ refuse now. He had a good thing now!

Finally he spotted _three_ cases full of news flimsies outside a cafe on the edge of the business district. Drift snagged a copy of each.

Armed with a suitable bribe, he turned toward the Dead End and the Darklands’ territory.

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Nine Ladies Dancing

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“I’m glad you came back.”

Drift scoffed. Like he was going to risk that Jazz would call and check that he’d gone to his follow up.

Ratchet just sighed. “Well let’s get your hatchlings checked over first.”

Drift wanted to bristle and growl and keep Gasket’s hatchlings away from the medic, but he didn’t exactly have a lot of choices.

They stayed curled up in their sphere-shells, which made the medic frown (probably still worried about their processor development) but that was just sensible as far as Drift was concerned.

“I like the gloss on their plating better this time around.” He listened to both of their pumps and such. “Same there. I still hear a murmur, so you’re going to have to keep an optic on it.”

“Whatever.”

“Let me just draw some fluids and then we’ll get yours over with.”

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Ten Lords A-leaping — 300 words

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“Just read it,” Drift snapped, pacing. “I know what it says.”

“If you know what it says,” Ratchet snipped back, “why do you need me to read it to you?”

“Because I need to _make sure_ it says what it’s supposed to say,” Drift growled. Prowl had been very patient, explaining each clause of his racer’s contract, and exactly what they meant, as he’d written them. But Drift didn’t trust Prowl.

Drift didn’t trust Ratchet either, but Ratchet didn’t know Prowl and had no reason to lie to Drift on his behalf.

“This isn’t a contract,” Ratchet hissed angrily. “It’s an arrangement for indentured servitude! Do you know how much they’re charging you for rent and food?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s over twice what they’re giving you for a stipend! You’ll have to win every fragging race to pay the difference with prizes!”

“Yeah.”

“That’s impossible! You can’t sign this!”

“Have to learn to write my own name first, yeah.”

Ratchet was not amused. “Drift—”

“It’s fine! P— M’manager’s said I can pay for that stuff with—” Drift stopped. Ratchet didn’t approve of sex for money.

Too late. “You’re interfacing with him,” Ratchet said flatly, radiating disapproval. “Drift… Selling yourself. You’re better than that.”

“Fragging why do you care?” Drift finally snapped. “Ain’t like _you’re_ stepping up. I’m an addict and a _whore._ Your dumb job office didn’t give me the fragging time!”

“I can’t…”

“Yeah.” Drift snarled, flexed his claws. “You keep saying that. Well I don’t fucking care what you can’t do. Never did.”

“I’m trying to help everyone.”

Drift just scoffed. “Yeah well, it doesn’t do much, does it. Me? If it gets Gasket’s hatchlings food and an apartment and enough reading to stay out of the slums, I will fuck a line of mechs from here to Kaon.”

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Eleven Pipers Piping — 300 words

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“So what’s this?”

Prowl continued to lay out the flimsy things with the pictures. “It’s called an adventure card game. It’s cooperative, rather than competitive like most card games.”

“Aren’t card games like,” Drift waved at the spread of flimsies. “Holograms?”

“Most are,” Prowl acknowledged, petting Blue affectionately in reward for successfully scaling the table at the sculpture park. He then placed the hatchling back on the ground with its sibling and the food bowls. “But holographic machines can be hacked, and the makers require account information for either betting purposes or subscriptions depending on the game, which, as you can imagine, is not the best combination. I prefer physical games.”

Drift snorted but he couldn’t refute that, even if it did sound a little paranoid.

He picked up one of the many, many cards still in the box that apparently wouldn’t be used this game. There were hundreds. He’d memorized the symbols on a standard fifty-three card holo-deck, but this… this looked like the kind of thing where he’d need to read the text.

“What if I don’t wanna play this?” he asked.

Prowl paused. “We can do something else, I suppose. I’m not sure what, though.”

Drift hunched his shoulders. He knew what most of his customers would suggest if he’d refused a harmless activity like this. Drift would have followed him into an alley for a quick blowjob, but he was sure Prowl was thinking more along the lines of museums and restaurants and slag.

“I can’t read them,” he bit out. The words burned.

“Is the text too small or…” Prowl trailed off. “I see. In that case,” he cleaned up the adventure card game and put the cards neatly back into their box. He pulled out a flimsy. “Let’s assess how much you do know.”

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Twelve Drummers Drumming — 360 words

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“We need to talk about what I want next cycle.” Prowl sat down on the floor, away from the bed and offered the fuzzy end of a toy for Green to chase. He’d already put his baton, cuffs and gun over on the counter, out of reach.

Drift snorted. He debated sitting too, but he didn’t feel nearly as serene and ended up pacing around the room. _He_ stayed away from Prowl’s weapons too. “What’s to talk about? You chase. You frag. I take it.”

Prowl looked down and away. “Yes, that is the crux of it, but I have rules. For both of us.”

Drift snorted again. Rules. Sure.

“If you need me to stop for any reason, you need to tell me _red,”_ Prowl said quietly. “If I catch you, I likely won’t be in any state to slow down, so you must call a full stop.”

Drift scoffed.

“I know you don’t believe I will, but I need you to promise that you say it if I’m hurting you.” Prowl stroked Green’s shell. “I don’t like hurting my lovers.”

Prowl was weird, but so far when he’d said or asked for something weird, he’d followed through. “Sure. Red.” Whatever.

Prowl nodded. “Handcuffs are nonnegotiable, but I’ll be using these,” he withdrew a second pair of cuffs from his subspace and handed them to Drift. “They’re not real. They’re designed to be easy to escape. Just pull that lever—” Drift did and blinked when the cuffs practically fell apart.

He wrinkled his nose at them. What the—? “What’s the point?”

“The act of catching and cuffing you is important, but holding you captive is not. Tomorrow I will not have any of my other implements on me at all, but if we decide to use them in the future I will similarly be using toy versions that will not hurt you. Verisimilitude is the goal, not actuality. I hope they become unnecessary. I am, in fact, hoping you will run me to exhaustion and we won’t need to engage in the act at all.”

Drift just stared at Prowl incredulously.

Prowl was _fucking weird._

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End


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